Deathstalker 04 - Deathstalker Honor

anything in common apart from the Maze,” said Owen.
    “Well, there’s always you,” said Midnight, smiling a little too warmly for Owen’s liking. “Wherever there’s one of me, there’s always one of you. We were fated to be together.”
    “Right,” said Bonnie, idly tugging a gold ring piercing something Owen preferred not to look at.
    “Right…” “Now, that is interesting,” said Moon, still bent over the control panels. Everyone looked around quickly.
    “I really hate it when he says that,” said Hazel. “It nearly always means something quite appallingly nasty is going on.” “No, this really is interesting,” said Moon. “I don’t know what it means, but it definitely is interesting.”
    Owen moved over to join him and studied the sensor displays. “This makes no sense at all,” he said finally. “It’s like something is slowly… enveloping the Sunstrider. Some kind of organic material.”
    “Hold everything,” said Bonnie. “Are you saying there’s something on this benighted world big enough to swallow a starship?” “Not as such,” said Moon. “Nothing here but plant life, remember?” “We’re going to have to go out and take a look,” said Hazel. “See what else can go wrong on this bloody mission.”
    “Better watch your language when we meet Saint Bea,” said Owen, smiling. “She’ll make you do penance.”
    “I already am,” growled Hazel. “Ever since I met you.”
    For a while the airlock outer door refused point-blank to open. All the systems were functioning, but the door wouldn’t budge. They tried cranking it open with the manual release, but all that happened was that Hazel broke two fingernails trying to shift it. She lost her temper completely and shot out the locking system with her disrupter. Owen and Moon dragged the door halfway open, and the party took turns squeezing through and dropping down to the surface below, gun and sword in hand.
    Outside, the jungle was a riot of color, all of it in shades of red. The black trees had scarlet leaves, the shrubbery and foliage were a blushing crimson, and the thick, curling vines were a disturbing shade of
    pink. The local vegetation never saw any sun, so chlorophyll never really got started. Red was the order of the day in Lachrymae Christi’s jungle, and a hell of a lot of it was determinedly draping itself over the Sunstrider II. Owen and his companions cut and hacked their way clear of the airlock, were drenched immediately by the pouring rain, and finally turned and looked back at their ship. A network of shocking pink vines had already covered much of the outer hull from stem to stern, and more vines were crawling into position, inching doggedly forward like lengths of animated intestine. Thick leaves like scarlet palms slapped against the hull from all sides, adding still more layers, as though the jungle was trying to bury all traces of the intruding ship. By the time Owen had taken all this in, the airlock opening had already disappeared behind a mat of bloodred vines. He struggled back through the clinging foliage and tried to cut through the vines with his sword, but the blade clung stickily to the vines, and he had to jerk hard to pull it free. He raised his disrupter and took aim. The energy beam punched a hole through the vines, and went on to do untold further damage inside the airlock. The blackened vines tried to catch alight, but the rain quickly put a stop to that. Owen watched numbly as the vines slowly but deliberately repaired and covered over the hole he’d made.
    “Ah,” said Moon. “Now, that is unfortunate.”
    Owen lost it completely. A shriek of pure rage and frustration burst out of him as he stamped around in a circle, hacking with his sword at any vegetation that got in his way. “That is it! That is bloody it! Not only have I lost my second yacht in a crash landing, not only have we now been cut off from all our supplies and extra weapons, not only is it at least twenty miles between here and the Mission, but it is pouring rain and I don’t have my cloak with me! I am soaked! I hate being wet like this! Hate it, hate it, hate it!” He kicked viciously at a patch of vines, got his foot tangled, and fell over. No one was stupid enough to laugh. He surged to his feet again, his face crimson as the surrounding vegetation, breathing hard. Moon looked at Hazel. “Has Owen changed while I was gone? He never used to do that.” “No,” said Hazel.
    “He didn’t.